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A labour of love, a laugh at labour and the tip of a slip 'twixt cup and lip, Fake Teak eke out our imperfections with their thoughts.
Formed in 2003 but informed long before then, Andrew Wyld set off on the road to music with the help of the Seven Words Project, a challenge to get seven arbitrary words into a song. The words got sillier and the project got left further and further behind, but the songwriting bug had infected Andrew's lung. He has continued to write and play, and though he still wears his influences on his sleeve, he is hoping to find his unique voice soonish. He is now tall.
Ken Barraclough, pipe-smoker, ripe joker and midnight raconteur of rambles and rambler of recitations, came to Andrew fresh as a dazed bee from Radio 2's dark underbelly. His standard of living is maintained in style at the hands of his light grey masters and their dark brown voices. His living up to standards is questionable.
Brian Brompton started out as a private eye with an eye on his privacy. Finding himself beset by troubles he turned in the trenchcoat and entered the trenches with the Teak. He turned the tables by turning the turntables and keeps from boredom on the keyboards. Sampling, soundscapery and electronics are his forte and the synthesizer is his piano.
Kitty Lunalite caught the eyes of the Teak drumming solo in a musical instrument shop one day. A face like sunshine and a figure like velveteen luxury make her one of the most in-demand of the Teaks as she shines like a beacon from behind her wholly transparent Ludwigs. Sometimes people ask if she ever sports transparency elsewhere, but such rudery is in vain: she'll never swap the Paistes for pasties and claims the G-string belongs on the guitar (in public at least).
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